Monday, February 17, 2014

Response to Litany

You are the warm sand on Virginia Beach
And the white water on the tips of the waves.
You are the green grass of the meadows
And the white clouds in the sky.
You are the eggs and the flour
But you are not the noodles.
You are the sails in the wind,
However you are not the mud between my toes.
And you are certainly not the lightning in the sky
The thunder in the night,
Or the wind rattling the windows.
But you may be the milk in my cereal.
It is possible that you are the scent of the hyacinth,
Maybe even the soft feathers of a duckling,
But you are not even close
To being the smell of puppy’s breathe.
You are neither the dead leaves of winter’s trees
Nor the melting icicles dangling from the eaves.
I thought that you should know,
When it comes to how you make me feel
I am the thorn on the rose,
The sap on the maple tree
And the spider’s web along the path.
I may also be the crust on the bread
But I am not the peanut butter in the middle.
I also happen to be the tuna in the casserole
But I am not the peas and the cheese.
I am the camera in the photographer’s hand
But you are the photograph.
You are all the pleasant memories
But you are never the bad dreams.
You could never be a bad dream.
You will always be the warm sand on Virginia Beach
And perhaps, you will be the water
As it washes the sand beneath my feet.

Wednesday, February 12, 2014

Love Is a football game

Love is a football game.
The field stretched out 
With lines both horizontal and vertical
That define the boundaries of Love.
The goal posts stand like giants in the end zone.
Love is the stands where spectators watch with anticipation.
Love is the sound of helmets as they crash into each other
Love is the slap of pads
And the sounds of bodies colliding.
Love is the exhale of air as bodies thunder down the field.
Love is sweat, and tears and hard work.
Love is training and practice
And training some more.
Sometimes you just want to sit in the stands
And watch everyone else in love.
But often times, love wants to be on the field.
Love is offense and defense.
Love wants to be the quarterback
In charge of calling all the plays.
Love sends you on a slant pattern
And you are carried down the field
Love wants to be the one to score.
Sometimes you kick love
How far you go depends on the kicker.
You fly high, flipping over and over,
Spiraling through the crisp morning air
Hoping, waiting for love to catch you.
You soar through the goalpost of love.
And everyone cheers for you.
Love doesn’t always win.
Sometimes in love there is losing.
Love is trying your best
And hoping that you are better for trying.
Love is working with others,
Even if they are different from you.
Love knows the plays and how to execute them.
Love studies the play book.
Love knows the rules
There are no referees in Love;
No one to throw a flag
Or call a penalty for unsportsmanlike conduct.
Love is a give and take.
Sometimes you gain ten yards to a first down.
Sometimes love sets you back.
You may be tackled by love,
Or love sacks you in the backfield.
Love blind sides you if you aren't protected.
Love is taking the field or sitting on the sidelines.
You can be a starter or second string.
But do not sit the bench.
Even the water boy dreams of love,
Living vicariously through those who do love.
The football of love gets in your blood.
Love is overcoming the fear of loss,
Of someone stronger hitting you hard.
Love is a concussion, and hurt, and breaks.
Love is triumph in the face of defeat.
Love never keeps score.
There is no Super Bowl of Love,
Love drafts players.
Love is made up of owners,
Of Coaches and players.
Love has spectators, fans and sponsors.
You never truly know love until you play the game
Hope you Like my poem!
Hugs and Love to all:
Thank-you to all who inspire me!.